Legend

P r o l o g u e

There are no weapons in my town. We possess knives and the rare rusty sword, but they don’t count anymore, not since the discovery of watersteel. The superior metal with its distinct blue color and wavy pattern quickly made all existing weapons obsolete. The other children and I used to daydream that we would chance upon weapons made of the expensive metal and become famous warriors like those of the old.

I stand with a guarded stance, surrounded by my enemies. I watch carefully; they make the first move. Sidestepping a careless thrust, I raise my staff to block a swing from my other side. Before I can counter and take the offensive, a third person tries to stab me in the back. I can't react in time; it connects with a resounding crunch.
The thin branch cracked. My brother throws down his make-believe sword in elation. The other children start laughing because the one to finally beat me is my little brother. I grimace at the future teasing to come.

“Good job,” I mutter as I throw the staff to my brother.

“Thanks!” my brother, Alex, replies beaming, oblivious to my discomfort. He picks it up carefully, like it might catch on fire at any moment.

Seeing the smiles all around me, I reprimand myself for feeling the way that I do. I think I’m too competitive for my own good. After all, you have to be better than the best to rise to fame in the land of Valoran. I reason to myself that it was a five versus one. There’s no shame in losing in a little game.

But I can’t fool myself. I can’t be satisfied with anything but the best. It scares me at times.